


That look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

by Gyogyo



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Old Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 20:19:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyogyo/pseuds/Gyogyo
Summary: On a night like this, their meeting is more ritual than romance.





	That look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

Ororo enjoyed events held by the Institute. They were social, entertaining, often philanthropic in their purpose and she attended them all without exception. She enjoyed conversation and music all around. She enjoyed dressing in fine clothes and interesting jewelry, turning heads with her regal style. She even enjoyed the formality of introductions with honorary guests.

Xavier had once commended her as role model to all mutants who found themselves pulled into mainstream visibility, full of dignity and patience. She carried the responsibility of meeting that expectation ever since.

Ororo needed to escape, however. Now, a break for fresh air was her only desire as sometimes her mind could make even the white noise of pleasant mingling and the crowding of well-dressed bodies into walls. When she finally traded the too-warm crystal-bright hall for the cool twilight of the stepped gardens, all those fancy things fell away.

There was only the clear sky waiting like a blank canvas. There was heart-pounding silence. 

She once lived in the sky with only the waves of her hair to cover her as the wind saw fit. With thunder as her joy and hailstones as her jewels. She used to laugh at diamonds and throw them away.

After a long series of deep breaths at the garden balustrade overlooking the great lawn a familiar shadow came to join her. His approach on bare feet was soft as ever, completely unlike the imposing clack of men’s dress shoes. In fact, it was hardly the padded steps that gave him away but the willow whip of a happy tail. “Good evening, Frau Munroe.”

A smile tugged at her mouth before she could even see him. Kurt took the events as seriously as she when it came to the guests but his formality was strictly playful with old comrades, a secret game. He might as well have been an actor on his big debut, walking around a movie set and delighting in the production of it all. 

“Mr. Wagner, you sound a little out of breath. All danced out?” 

He exhaled strongly once she noticed. “Not quite. With the right motivation, I could dance all week.”

Yes, he was very happy. His voice was light, like it sat on top of lungs full of laughter. 

“Tell me, how many did you humor with your compliments on their first real Viennese waltz?” Ororo asked theatrically.

Kurt chuckled lightly and rolled his shoulders. “Oh, quite a few young ladies. I don’t know about a number.”

“Now, that’s a lie. I know you can never forget the face of a lady once you’ve met eyes with her.”

“ _Im Gegenteil!_ Believe me, I’m afraid I can.” Kurt rested his forearms on balustrade and leaned over, coaxing her to finally turn her head toward him. “It's easy to forget every face I’ve ever known when we meet eyes.”

“Mr. Wagner, _please._ ”

He chucked again and stood straight, stretching a little. “I suppose I am a little exhausted by the dance lessons…and being the sole dispenser of culture this evening so it would seem. But what are you doing out here, Frau? I haven’t seen you dancing.” 

Ororo’s breathing was steadied at this point but she took another breath just for the taste of night air. “The walls started feeling close. As far as dancing, I guess you could say even I need the proper motivation.”

“One moment, I’ll be right back.”

Ororo knew instantly what was coming and took a step back to give the Kurt-shaped cloud of smoke room to dissipate. Before the last curl could fade, however, he was back. He was holding a silver serving tray supported by the tips of his fingers. The tray carried narrow flutes of champagne and very tempting little hors d'oeuvres with real flowers on top.

“Oh my god, don’t tell me you took that from a waiter!”

“Don’t worry, he looked like he could use a break. Anyway, how about a little motivation?” Kurt extended the tray to her and she took the champagne.

They drank without speaking for a while, just enjoying the far off singing crickets and the English country stylings of the garden. 

“Kurt…” Ororo began when her glass was nearly drained.

“Hm?”

“We were never lovers, were we?”

A look at Kurt’s face revealed the moment of cartoonish surprise, headlight eyes and mouth just slightly open enough to show the points of his bottom fangs. “You’re asking?” 

“I am.”

“ _Nein_ …” He said, the word but a soft whisper that ‘no’ could never hope to be. “But, as long as you’re asking… I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream–and you know the rest.”

“You make it easy to forget sometimes, my friend. Remember the gala? This is the dress I wore when your tail grazed the back of my knee.” Ororo took a dainty sip from her flute to finish the last drops.

He, in turn, lost a little bit of champagne at that. The liquid found easy routes down his face. Apparently the best solution in that moment was a couple of impolite laps and a open palm held under his chin for good measure. “That was forever ago… and it was an a–”

“Accident.” Ororo finished. “Or so you’ve maintained..for years.” 

“Well after so long I can’t change my story now, can I? True, I know how to wield my tail as a feather, maybe even expected you to jolt, but I didn’t expect I’d have to catch you.”

“I didn’t expect to buckle.”

“Thank my good genes that I don’t have my father’s spade. Where his was a spearhead, mine is taffy.”

“Oh yes, wouldn’t that have been a worse ‘accident’?”

He actually pouted a bit like a child. 

“What? Don’t worry, I still think of you as a perfect gentleman.” She pat him on the shoulder.

“My lady, that’s very patronizing, but I’ll take it.”

“Be glad, Kurt. I like a gentleman.”

Feeling a bit playful herself, Ororo crafted a special twirling wind that raced around the base of her empty champagne flute, spinning it around in her hand. 

“Now that’s a trick.” Kurt said, clearly very amused and secretly grateful for something to turn attention away from past flirtations. 

The wind quickly grew powerful and, like a slingshot, launched the glass away. It spun end over end, glinting at every rotation in the moonlight. The momentum told of a long journey for that delicate little glass. 

The iron railing vibrated under her hands like a tuning fork when it suddenly took on the brunt of Kurt’s full weight. Ororo saw out of her peripheral how his grasping feet had taken the place of his hands where they had once rested. He had a good solid hold. There was just enough time to notice gold cufflinks at the tapered ankles and coattails framing the tail that jutted out for balance before Kurt pressed off with the confidence of a bird leaping from a branch. He disappeared a few feet away with a crack of light and a bloom of dark smoke. Air rushed in to fill the space where his body once was.  
Another crack of light appeared somewhere far into the horizon where lawn gave way to forest, right above the treetops, like a Christmas star.

Then he was behind her, tsking and bowing to delicately place the flute back on a large serving tray that held other empty flutes. He was slow and careful in the movement as though he feared to accidentally crush the thing in hands not quite meant for holding glass stems. “I think maybe I’ve been a bad influence on you, but littering?.”

“A good influence actually. I think I’m quite ready for a dance now.”

Since dusk had given way to night, the edges of Kurt’s form grew less distinct. He was fading with it, however his silhouette held together enough for Ororo to make him out as a shadow only slightly deeper than the sky behind him. His eyes glowed brilliantly.

When he bowed his head so that his eyes blinked out, Ororo felt the childlike urge to reach out with her hand, to feel that he was still there. She felt a little odd standing next to him in her milk-white dress.

He clapped his hands before backing away and taking a proud flamenco stance. A challenging gaze, the invitation not simply to dance but to duel with the soul. 

Ororo gathered her dress, it’s ruffles like a white carnation. 

She accepted.


End file.
